


Baker's Dozen

by margaritaville_antifa



Category: King Crimson (Band), The Police (Band)
Genre: Gen, Toilet humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaritaville_antifa/pseuds/margaritaville_antifa
Summary: Andy and Robert open a bakery. What could possibly go wrong? (Spolier: Everything.)
Kudos: 3





	Baker's Dozen

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO8V72pDw1o

Andy was ecstatic. His lifelong dream was finally coming true. The Fripp and Summers Bakery was opening up it’s doors at last! “Aren’t you excited, Bobby?” Andy said to his childhood friend, gazing up at the cutesy, pastel facade of their new business, his facial expression like that of a child going to Disneyworld for the first time.

Fripp was more reserved as usual. “Yes, yes, it is quite, er, lovely, I suppose. Wish it wasn’t so pink though… Now red on the other hand…

“Red isn't a good colour for a bakery.”

“Ah, you think too much inside the box, my friend.” Fripp smiled wickedly.

Fripp opened the door, the little bell hanging off the knob jingling, and held it open for Andy who followed him inside. The interior was just as bright and delightful as the outside. Pastel pink and mint green tiles on the floor, alternating in a checkerboard pattern, pink walls with white trim, white tables and chairs with pink cushions. It was like stepping into a Barbie playset.

“So should we go in the kitchen and start baking? I have some great recipes for chocolate cake, vanilla cake, brownies...”

“We could do that,” Fripp said. “But my only fear is that those particular desserts have all been done before, by other people. If we really want to stand out from the crowd, we have to be bold. We have to try things that no one else has dared tried before. Baking is an art, and like all arts, we must progress it, or else we risk becoming stagnant.

“Oh-kay…” Andy said. “I’m just gonna make some cookies.”

One Month Later…

Andy walked to his bakery all alone. Stewart had an accident on a waterslide so he had to take a couple of weeks off work to be at the hospital as moral support. Luckily, Stewart would make a full recovery. So now the real big concern was the bakery. He hoped Fripp had taken good care of it...

He stepped inside the bakery and almost screamed.

People were strewn all about the place. Vomit stained the floors. In the bakery display sat some brown-colored cupcakes and a sign above them that said “NEW! POOP FLAVOR!”

“ROBERT!”

Fripp stepped out holding a white rabbit, stroking it like a supervillian. “Ah Andy, you’re back.”

“What did you DO to MY BAKERY?”

“OUR bakery, you mean,” fripp said. “I simply experimented with flavours to try to make an experience that would be… remembered…”

“By making a literal shitty cake?” Andy stepped over the puke and spit-up bits of cake, making his way to the display. He briefly considered trying one of the pastries out of curiosity but wisely decided against it.

“Think about it, Andy. People love to be disgusted. They’ll see a horrible car accident on the highway and slow down to look at it, even with all the guts and blood out on the asphalt. And really I don’t see how this is any different from those earwax-flavored jelly beans they make nowadays.”

Andy pondered for a second. “How did you flavour these by the way.”

“I collected some samples from Eno’s cat’s litter tray.”

“You WHAT?”

Before Andy or Fripp could say anything else, two men in suits busted in. “This is the Health Department! We’ve traced a toxoplasmosis outbreak to this bakery so we’re shutting it down! Everyone vacate the premises IMMEDIATELY!”

Outside on the sidewalk, Andy burst into tears as his childhood dreams were shattered right in front of him. Fripp simply looked on as the Health Department put yellow tape over the doors and windows. “Well, that was fun while it lasted. I shall take my leave now.” Right on cue, a white van pulled up. The Frippmobile. The back doors swung open and Fripp stepped inside and then was gone.

Andy watched the van disappear over the horizon, and his sorrow turned to anger. “I HATE YOU ROBERT FRIPP! I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR AS LONG AS I LIVE!” He shouted to the heavens, fists shaking.

Three months later, they opened a floral shop together.

The end.


End file.
